As I start the popcorn in the microwave, I wonder why Angela gave in so easily on us not breaking the no-fooling-around-in-the-house rule. I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm glad she saw reason, but the passionate, Ingridy Angela of a couple weeks ago wouldn't have given up so quickly.

After the "show & tell" in Washington back in May, I was more confused than ever. She told me she liked me. She kissed me. Then she told me what she'd just told and shown me. But what did it mean? That I was completely forgiven about Kathleen? That she was proud of me for not selling out the old folks over Medicare? Or what?

And when I told her I like show & tell, she said, "Maybe we should play it again sometime." And then she left the room, without telling me what that meant. She had sounded, well, kind of Ingridy. But Ingrid wouldn't just up and leave. She would follow it up, let Anthony respond.

But Angela left me hanging, for two months. And then she blindsided me.

I'd decided to get back to the beginning. Well, not Anthony & Ingrid's, but mine and Angela's. Not the awkward first day and night of when I moved in, but the first time we all hung out as a, well, not a family yet, but on the road to it. Sam and I had agreed that one thing these uptight Connecticuters needed was a Brooklyn carnival. Jonathan had a blast, a kid of seven or eight, having the time of his life. Angela didn't loosen up as easily, and she did barf on my shoes. But you gotta start somewhere.

So I thought it would be good to go to another Brooklyn carnival, and there was one right on our anniversary. Mrs. Rossini had told me. That wasn't my only gift though, a trip to the old neighborhood. I wanted to get Angela something special and thoughtful, to show that I understood her needs. But nothing too personal. After she slept right through my confession of love on the train, I didn't want to rush things. We've always gone at our own pace after all.

I know how she loves her Jaguar. Hell, one of our first fights was when I had it painted red when she wanted sandalwood. I think I'd instinctively sensed her Ingrid side, but I should've eased her along, gently. I think that's one reason why we crossed the line so early on, as Anthony & Ingrid, before we were really ready as Tony & Angela. If she shifts without stopping from first to fifth gear, maybe that's partly my fault. It's like her going from demure pinks to fiery oranges. What if I'd suggested a nonthreatening baby blue for the Jag in '85? And then maybe one of those rich blues she likes after that.

As it was, once the paint job was paid off (and I wasn't in any hurry, not with needy, horny Mrs. Wilmington ready to scoop me up), Angela went for a bolder but understated black. Black is definitely one of her colors, although I don't think either of us knew it when we first met as adults. But, oh, the memory of her in her ripped black teddy! And the woman can wear a little black dress like nobody I've ever seen.

I'm glad she's just putting on a sweatshirt and shorts. Something homey, cozy. I can deal with that.

The day of our anniversary of living together, God, she looked beautiful! Her hair down in a simple but pretty style. An off-the-shoulder white dress with pink roses. Not spring roses, but summer roses in full bloom. A long skirt with just a hint of her long legs, and just a hint of cleavage up top. You know, classy-sexy, Angela-sexy. I looked forward to walking around the carnival with her, maybe holding hands on some of the rides.

And then I blew it. The fortuneteller told me about seeing "I love you" written across time. And that was the inscription on the watch Angela gave me for our anniversary! Actually, it was "It's time I said I love you." That was even bigger, because not only did she love me, but she'd obviously been wanting to tell me for awhile.

Now, maybe she meant as a best friend or something, but she had told me for years that she loves me as a friend. No, not recently, but in the past. Well, she said a lot of things in the past, sometimes drunk or unconscious, that may've no longer been true. Anyway, you don't say it like that to your friend. And it wasn't like it was a "good luck on your retirement" watch. I had no plans to go anywhere anytime soon, even after I finish college and find a teaching job. (Maybe we could be housemates. Or would that be weird once Jonathan's off at college?) In fact, I told Madame Alexandra how happy I've been the past seven years and how I'd like another seven just like them. Well, maybe not just like, but at least as happy.

All these years, not even counting our Ingrid & Anthony time, I knew she had feelings for me. But love? Real true love? She felt that for me?

And why not just say it out loud, not on a watch? Was she scared like I was, scared of losing what we had?

And it's not like she said, in her sweet Angela voice, "Here, Tony, I want you to have this," and waited to see my reaction. No, she gave me the watch, said "Happy Anniversary" flatly, and stormed off.

I found Mona, Mrs. Rossini, and the kids. None of them, not even Sam's weird date Fred, seemed a bit surprised that Angela loves me. I got Sam on her own, to ask what I should do. She's 19 now and she understands in a way that no one can, not even Mrs. Rossini, how hard it is for me to love a woman like this after Marie. Sam has always supported my relationship with Angela, in all its wonderful weirdness.

She made me see that, now that Angela had confessed her love, the only real question was whether I returned it. And I admitted for the first time to another human being (not counting sleeping Angela on the train) that I do. I love Angela.

But it's one thing to say that to my Samantha, whom I've known almost half my life and who has always accepted me, whose love I can never lose, and quite another to say it to Angela. Especially when Angela was pissed at me. And holding a shotgun. All I could manage was a declaration of love for the watch, and that wasn't good enough.

I went looking for Angela again. It was getting close to midnight, the hour when I'd lose my true love if I didn't kiss her in time. I'm not superstitious like Mona, but as Sam pointed out, Madame Alexandra's prediction aside, this is the kind of thing that breaks people up. And even though Angela and I have never quite been a couple, it could break us up. Our friendship and the promise of the future.

I found Angela heading into the Tunnel of Love. I hijacked her swan. I made a mess of explaining myself and so of course she wouldn't kiss me. Finally, I told her that if there was one chance in a million I could lose her, I didn't want to take it. She asked why. And then I blurted out, " 'Cause I love you!"

Oh God, I didn't want to tell her like that! I wanted to lead up to it. But the pressure of time and everything made me for once not stop myself. I don't know, maybe it was Anthony nudging me, because I know by now he loves Ingrid, and not just her body. And he never worries what to say.

The problem is, I worry. She asked me what I said, like she couldn't believe it. And I said, "What did you hear?" But then finally I admitted it, that I've loved her for a long time. I'm glad she didn't ask me how long, because I don't know.

I told her how I didn't want to lose what we had. The same thing I've been saying all along. But now I was finally willing to risk that.

And then we kissed, long and sweet. We even kissed after the carnival closed, and quite frankly I'd have been happy to kiss her all night, kiss her everywhere, including, uh, sub rosa.

But one of the carnies kicked us out and I knew we had to go back to the family. I was sure they'd have a thousand questions, but they didn't.

I remember saying goodnight to Angela, how she looked like a princess on her balcony, as she waved to me. But I'm not the prince, am I? I'm the pauper who wins the princess with his charm, brains, good looks, and/or bravery.

Well, I wasn't feeling too brave. Yeah, I'd just made a big leap—and not just in and out of swan boats. But what next? After all, it's not like everything was solved. She's still my boss and we're still from different worlds, although the worlds have drawn closer over the years and she won't be my boss forever. And while I was willing to lose what we had, I wasn't sure what we were getting in exchange. Because after all, there was still the family to consider.

Yeah, Sam is grown up now and even Jonathan isn't little anymore. Billy is out of the picture, so we're not waiting an extra decade or whatever it would've been. But I just wasn't ready to share our news with the family. I needed time to adjust to our changed circumstances before going public.

And so, although I didn't mention their names, I kind of invited Ingrid & Anthony to the house. I figured our sneaking-around days weren't quite over. But I was going to be a classier version of Anthony. Yes, I would make love to Angela, but I would do it with more suavity than Anthony.

So I smoothly extended Jonathan's curfew an extra couple hours (Angela did not seem to mind) and prepared a roast duck for two. I put everything on the remotes and the Clapper. I did all I could to set the mood. And Angela, God, she looked stunning, in a little black dress and spike heels!

And then Sam showed up. Now, you know I love my daughter dearly, but I mean, come on! We'd managed to get rid of Jonathan and Mona for the evening, and now this. Luckily, Angela came up with an on-the-spot charity potluck we were supposed to be going to, so Sam left. And then Angela said, with a big dose of Ingrid, "If you're real good, I'll tell you what's for dessert."

But with our rotten luck, we didn't even have the duck. Which really sucked, because—well, I won't finish that poem. But first Mona and then Jonathan came home and we were sneaking around more than I had expected.

So we tried checking into a hotel, but it didn't go as smoothly as when Anthony & Ingrid used to try it. (For one thing, I hurt my hand ripping the broken air conditioner out of the wall.)

Finally, we ended up parking in her Jag at the edge of Piedmont Lake. But we didn't make out at first. It felt like the earth might open up and swallow us. Well, not quite. Instead, when she started to "uncork me" like a fine wine, we ended up in the lake. She had to call the police on her car phone so we could be rescued.

While we waited, I couldn't help it, I said, "This kind of stuff never happens to Anthony & Ingrid."

"Well, they don't have a family to worry about."

"Yeah."

And the worst part, well, the second worst part was that the cop called the family, I guess Sam in the dorms for me, and Mona or Jonathan for Angela. All three of them showed up and we ended up having to confess to them. In a way, it felt good to get it out, not bottle it up anymore, although, yeah, it was embarrassing. But they were all happy for us, once the shock wore off. Sam even said I'd been glowing, which I guess I had been, when I hadn't been sweating.

And then we ended up on the 11 o'clock news, as victims of a freak car accident. I stressed out about the whole thing so much that I ended up with a huge zit on my forehead, just like Jonathan. Maybe Angela and I aren't cut out to act like teenagers anymore.

So we cooled things down for a couple weeks. We kissed and held hands in the house, but we didn't get swept away. Yeah, it's a little frustrating, but not as much as if we were getting worked up all the time and being interrupted.

The night after the carnival, before I knew how badly things were going to go, I offered Angela some champagne. She replied, "Mais, oui," so I punned, "Ay, who's gonna stop us?" Well, someone did, whether it was God, or Fate, or ourselves. So now we don't even start.

I did try expressing my affection in other ways, like with little heart-shaped pancakes, but I started to feel insecure because she didn't really make any gestures back. So then I tried harder, and she thought I was too demonstrative. She even had a nightmare that I was dangerously obsessed! So now we're trying to find a good balance, but you know that's never easy with us.

I finish up the popcorn, with all my special toppings, just the way she likes it. Then I carry it into the living room and set it on the coffee table. I dim the lights, but for movie-viewing, not romance. And then I find the videotape and get it in position.

"All set?"

I turn to see Angela coming down the stairs. Well, she wasn't kidding about the shorts and sweatshirt. She's got on short-shorts and the "MRS." half of the shirt the kids got us for our "first wedding anniversary."

"That's what you're wearing? To watch Singin' in the Rain?"

"What am I supposed to wear, a raincoat?"

"Very funny, Angela." I can't decide if I'm more turned on or annoyed. Or maybe I'm annoyed that I'm turned on. I decide I'll do my best to ignore it.

Yeah, you probably can guess how successful I am at that. At first, she behaves. She sits and watches the movie. We laugh, we sing along, it's fun.

And then she says, "Don't you want to wear your half of the shirt?"

"It's not our anniversary," I mutter.

"Well, no, not our wedding anniversary, but we are coming up on the anniversary of our first kiss."

God, she's right. Twenty-eight years, even if we haven't celebrated every year. And I'm guessing we won't be going away this year because of that summer History class I'm taking. (There really is a Prof. Hendrix who teaches about the Peloponnesian War, although that term paper Angela told Mona about isn't due till the end of this month.)

Would it be so bad to celebrate here, rather than upstate? I mean, we don't have to call ourselves Anthony & Ingrid. But we could use a little of their luck and ease.

I hesitate and then tear off my shirt.

She grins. "You're not worried about being too cold?"

"Angela, it's August. And I'm sitting next to you."

"Good point."

"Are you, uh, are you wearing anything underneath?" It must be a T-shirt whose collar I can't see.

"Of course, Tony. I'm a very shy, modest, conservative woman."

"Yeah, real shy," I say, ogling her legs. And then I crawl into the shirt so I can put on my half and OH MY GOD! She's wearing Mona's anniversary gift, too!

I told little Billy it was a hat, but it's actually a peekaboo bra! Black of course. So I can't take my eyes off her breasts.

"How's it look?"

"They, I mean it, looks great. Very, very nice hat." Then I quickly pull my head and my farthest arm out of the sweatshirt.

Now snuggling on the couch has reached a whole new level. I try to resist, OK, not very hard, but soon I'm feeling her up with the hand that's under the shirt. I can't help it, her nipples draw my fingertips like magnets.

We still watch the movie, although less and less as it goes on. Good thing we own the tape, and have the movie half memorized anyway. We soon start necking, as our hands underneath the shirt play with each other's chest and stomach, while the outside hands start in hair (mine still hasn't grown out unfortunately, although she doesn't seem to mind), and then wander to backs and then butts.

"Angela, maybe we should do it tonight!"

"What about no fooling around in the house?"

"Well, I think we've already broken that unwritten rule."
"Oops, sorry."

"Like hell you are, Ingrid."

She giggles. "So what do you want to do about it, Anthony?"

I take a deep breath because suddenly I know. "We need to go back to the beginning."

"The beginning? We were just children!"

"Not Anthony & Ingrid's beginning. Tony & Angela's."

"Do you want me to go put on my pink bathrobe?"

"Well, you do look pretty cute in a bathrobe. But I wasn't thinking quite that far back. I've just ruined your evening with Grant."

"How could you do that? It was none of your business!"

"I thought I was protecting you."
"Well, I'm an adult. I can take care of myself."

"Angela, I know you still have that sapphire blue robe and nightie set. Go put them on and I'll meet you at your bedroom door."

She grins. "After you change into your light blue pajamas and a white muscle shirt?"

"Well, I don't have those same pajama bottoms anymore, but I can improvise."

We grin at each other. We know it's crazy, but maybe it's less crazy to pretend to be your younger selves than to be your parallel-universe selves. At least I hope so.

She slips out of the sweatshirt and I watch her walk away in just short-shorts and the peekaboo bra. I want to chase after her, but I decide to be kind and rewind before following her. Sorry, Gene, Debbie, Donald. Some other night.